Papercuts
by Zero.Elektronik
Summary: And in that brief moment, you were like a papercut. Christophe/Gregory.


**Done for the 100 theme challenge.**

**Warning: Slash**

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**You, Christophe DeLorne, are one of the many pains in my life. You constantly annoy me. You burst into my room in the middle of the night, embedding your dirt and blood into the carpet, filling my room with your smokescreen, breaking things and making a mess of my room, my bed, myself. You're constantly telling me how I'm lower than you, and less intelligent than you because I'm British - even though I have a 4.0 grade average from Yardale! In fact, you always have to bring up my nationality even if it's completely irrelevant to the conversation; you seem to find it acceptable to go along with the French prejudice of hating the British. You're sexist, completely and utterly sexist. You often tell me how women are useless, how they could never do what you do, how they belong in the kitchen and their only purpose is to procreate. You insult my family all the time, especially my mother. She may be strict, and perhaps she does hold a grudge against you but she is my mother after all. You insult your own mother all the time too! How ungrateful. She brought you up and raised you by herself, sure, she may be strict but she's doing it because she loves you.

You look a complete mess - sometimes you look like a tramp and it's almost embarrassing to be seen with. You're constantly dirty and bloody, now, I know your work is the cause of this but would it really kill you to take a shower sometime? And your hair a complete mess, it sticks up in various places, cut too short in some, it's honestly unruly. Your thick brows are always furrowed, and your eyes are worn and dark; the bags under them are not becoming at all. Your skin is tanned, scared, and rough; you look much older than what you are. Your clothes are so…so bland and boring, it doesn't matter anyway though, considering the mess you make of yourself with dirt and sweat and blood - I never care to ask if it's yours or not anymore. You always slip into French with that thick, gravely accent of yours and look at me like I'm a fool for not understanding you. You're so rude and offensive. Everything you say is crude, and always inappropriate - I feel sorry for your mother; I know she taught you manners. You've got me wrapped around your dirty, broken fingers and you know this, and you constantly use it against me to get what you want, to embarrass me and to mock me because you know I can't deny this. And despite all of this, _I love you_.

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You're sitting on my bed; I haven't bothered to tell you to take your dirty boots off because you'll get it all over my sheets because I know you bloody well won't listen. You're smoking. Again. Despite this being the fifth time I've asked you not to, because my mother would kill me if she smelt the smoke; you just laugh and call me a pussy. I busy myself with filing through the paperwork that I'll soon be giving you and focus on missions, assassinations, thefts and prices instead of how good you look sitting on my bed - and oh, you're shirtless. You act as if you're just looking at your wounds, but that devilish smirk you throw at me shows me you mean otherwise. Well, it won't work. I have things to be doing. You're speaking French now. You know I can't understand anything but basic French, and the rest is all guesswork for me, so I have no idea what you're on about and God, it's distracting. So distracting that I've sliced my fingers open on the pages. Bollocks. You look at me with what seems to be worry, for a brief moment before going back to your usual indifferent expression. I put the files down on the bedside table, you look troubled, and so I'll go along with it (even though I know you'll remain silent) and ask you what's wrong. You take a long, slow drag of your cigarette and exhale the smoke slowly from your thin lips, the patterns hanging in the air and I watch them float above you in your silence.

"_I zink…I zink I love you, mon cher."_ And like paper cuts, you took me by surprise.

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End file.
